Conformity
by Arcada
Summary: A band of highwaymen struggling to survive in the barren wastes of former North California find that a routine assault against a caravan is anything but routine...


Untitled 

This fic has gore, graphic scenes, and other such violent activites. Please take this into consideration before reading on. So, without further ado: 

Conformity - A Fallout Fic by Arcada 

Chapter 1 - Brittle Souls 

"I'm getting a signal from the motion detector. They're coming", said Draknith as he silently slipped a small device into his pocket. 

"Outstanding", exclaimed Naanel with no lack of enthusiasm. "It's been a while since I've blasted a hole in something that can speak. It just doesn't seem right when I have to wait this long." 

Draknith chuckled as he laid his rifle upon the shelf of rock he was hiding behind, using it to steady his aim. Caravans were pretty scarce in this part of the mountains, mostly because the route was so far out of the way from the main lines. The route was also harder than most, going through one of the highest passes in the Sierra Nevada. But it was often safer for caravans to use this route for that very same reason. Seldom used, so very seldom were there any highwaymen and hijackers to fend off. So, the caravans that came through here were often less lightly armed than those on the main path, patrolled by local "law" enforcement, or whatever that may be. Less men to guard meant less to pay, hence higher profits. And that's exactly what Draknith was hoping for. 

It was twenty or so years after The Enclave had fallen, and the danger of the wasteland was beginning to fade. Towns were becoming more numerous, and larger. The New California Republic was spreading it's influence, and passed the Financial Unity act, recognizing the need for a united economy rather than each small town struggling to survive. And so, militias, policemen, and rangers wandered the main routes with the caravans that passed through the barren desert, also escorting travelers for the right price, of course. Convoys were safer, people were happier, and profits were climbing. There were even tourists traveling from town to town. And these people did not seem to know the true law of the world, the law of survival. Survival of the strongest. Survival of the smartest. 

Which was fine by Draknith, as he never had any problem fending off the pitiful defenses of the valuable caravans that passed through the northern part of the Sierra Nevada mountains. He long since learned that the "smarter" caravan organizations relied more on stealth and speed rather than a heavy guard for their more important and valuable convoys. Which was part of the reason Draknith was still alive, and doing very well for himself and his gang. Especially when compared to most of those idiotic highwaymen who roamed the wastes of the land, killing and looting passing travelers only because they lacked the brains to do anything different in life. Also part of the reason a good number of them were now dead, often blown away by some escort supported by the NCR, and left to rot in this barren rendition of Hell Their corpses now festering and preyed upon by vultures, radscorpions, or whatever. But of course, the less of those morons to pick off caravans, the more there is for me, thought Draknith. 

The sensor was set about ten minutes down the path at the rate of a steady walk, so that didn't leave much time. The pass itself was nestled between two steep, towering peaks on either side, shadowing the ruins of the town called Willow Creek. The path itself ran down a trench at the lowest point between the saddle of the two mountains, and was just wide enough for a single caravan cart to pass through. It then met another trench coming down from the southern mountain, then the path turned down the gulley heading north, going back down to the valley below, towards the gold town of Redding. This left enough cover for Draknith and his men to hide behind on either side of the trench, as the caravan approached from the T shaped junction from the west. Decaying and mutated trees sparsely covered the hillside, and small creatures scurried about, looking for food or just a warm place to lie, or waste away on in some cases. And just as numerous were boulders and slabs of grey granite that appeared in patches over the rotting majesty of the mountains. A small stream trickled down from one of the peaks, and ran down the middle of the path, carving it's small path down the mountain till it joined some tainted river who's name was long forgotten. 

Two of his teams were poised above the six foot trench, but on either side, well behind the cover of rock and wood. His men were all scattered about the pass, two teams of three, ready for him to give the signal that the caravan was coming. So, laying the butt of his rifle to the ground, Draknith reached into his pack set beside his feet, and brought out two unlit flares. Crossing them together in an X, he stood up from his hidden position behind the shelf of rock. When a flare was lit and thrown at the caravan, the attack was to begin. He could see a few of his men above the pass nod slowly, but he could barely make them out. They were hidden well enought that even knowing where they were, he had a hard time seeing them. All the better, though, thought Draknith as he smiled with pride at the quality of men he found. He wished he could see them better in their poise before battle, as he could see Naanel, but his eyesight wasn't what it had been in his youth. Maybe the radiation of the land was finally getting to him, making him feeble and weak. Heh. I'm only 37, Draknith thought, flexing the muscles in his arm. I'm not old. Yet, I've probably lived the longest out of anyone in this trade. 

As he started to put the flares into his back pocket, Draknith was brought out of his thoughts by a strange sound behind him. Something soft. Something that didn't belong in the quiet melody of death the mountains beheld. He turned around, and looked at the body of the third of his team, Crez, snoring softly as he doze peacefully in the bright, burning midday sun. He was sitting, his back leaned against the cliff, his shotgun resting in his hands. 

Draknith spit with disgust. "Naanel, could you do us a favor and go wake up that dipshit?" And, after a moment, "None too gently, of course", Draknith added with a greedy grin upon his face. 

Naanel responded in kind with the same grin. He got up without a sound, and started walking over toward his fellow associate. All in all, Draknith couldn't have asked for a better man than Naanel in his service. If there was a poster boy for the ideal soldier, it'd be him. His black hair always combed, his dark blue eyes gleaming above his high cheekbones, and his pistol sat impatiently in it's holster. Though Naanel was massive in size, a six and a half foot frame bearing over two hundred and thirty pounds, it never ceased to amaze Draknith how he moved along without the slightest sound. He'd heard ants that were louder than Naanel. Ordinary ants, of course, not those putrid giant ants, mutated by the radiation of the land, left behind by the last nuclear war. Naanel's temper sometimes got the best of him, though, but that was expected in this trade. And it wasn't exactly good to have passive and peaceful soldiers, now did it? 

He watched as Naanel silently stalked his unsuspecting prey, the sly grin of a predator dancing upon his lips. He looked down over Crez and almost, almost a look of pity came upon Naanel's face as he kicked Crez squarely in the ribs. To Naanel's amazement, Crez simply moaned slightly, shifted position, and continued snoring. And as Naanel laughed with disbelief, he reached his massive hand down in front of Crez's face, and closed his nostrils between his fingers. 

If there was anything Crez wasn't, it was Naanel. Crez, a small, physically weak man who had trouble firing the standard 12 guage shotgun he normally brought into battle, and made more noise when he moved than he did firing his gun. His lanky, dirty brown hair lumped together, and often got in his face. He refused to get it cut, though, for some odd reason. He was quite passionate about it, as well. Almost as passionate as he was about the hookers down at the Cat's Paw back home. His brown eyes were often dull, but yet, had a sort of subtle force, a hidden power behind them that was hard to see. Almost no one saw it. Draknith had seen it. Of course, it could only be seen when he wasn't sleeping. But it wasn't for these traits that Draknith only had Naanel kick Crez the ribs rather than put a bullet in his head. 

Crez had proven himself very useful in the past. A brilliant mind behind the weak, cowardly visage, there wasn't much Crez didn't understand or couldn't repair. He had actually found and fixed the motion sensor that Draknith used just a few minutes ago. He had also likely saved the lives of his entire troop when he found a tracking device implanted on a convoy they hijacked a few years back. And in turn, he was able to use that same device against the organization that planeted the beacon, allowing Draknith's gang to nab yet another convoy of ammunition from the same company; some of which still sat in their den waiting to be used. However, the little fucker slept whenever he wasn't doing something. Annoying as hell, but it was always fun to watch Naanel come up with new ways to wake him up. Draknith's favorite so far was the time Naanel found nest with some infant radscropions in it, and put a bunch of those nasty little things under Crez's shirt. Ah ha ha! Oh man, the look on his face as he awoke was priceless. It still brought a smile to Draknith's face as he recalled the event. 

Crez began waving his arms about now, trying to break away whatever had blocked his air supply. He then awoke with a start, gasping for air. Naanel smiled as he released his grip. "Sorry to disturb your slumber, milord, but we prefer to ambush a convoy without letting them know we're here first." With that, he bowed, and softly patted Crez on the head a few times, then walked back over to his position next to Draknith. Crez glared at Naanel's back with a intense look of contempt. Then, stifling a yawn, he wandered over to his position behind a rotting, naked tree that had the courage to grow in the trench. Draknith would have loved a more creative method for waking Crez up, but the convoy was probably getting close, and buisness always came before pleasure. 

"Well, gee whiz, I think I slept on a rock or something", Crez exclaimed sarcastically, nursing his bruised ribs. He shot a glance across the trench at Naanel. Naanel simply shook with silent laughter. 

"You're lucky that's all that happened to you when you were asleep", Draknith stated, injecting a hint of annoyance in his voice. "They probably heard your snoring over the entire fucking valley." 

Crez merely shrugged, as if to say, Hasn't screwed up a raid yet. "How long?", he asked after a moment. 

"Five minutes, give or take." 

"We ready?", Crez asked, as usual. 

"Is Vault City filled with a bunch of assholes?", came the usual reply. 

Crez smiled. 

The faint smell of brahmin moved it's way up the trench, and the faint sound of hooves scuffing on rock could be heard. Draknith jumped up and raised a single flare into the air, then quickly ducked back behind cover. Long seconds past, and then there! He could see the first two-headed brahmin carrying a cart, the remains of an ancient, rusted pick-up bed, come up over the horizon. The brahmin began to moo along the way, for some reason or another. The bed of the cart was covered with a tarp, but it was stretched in such a way that it was easy to tell there was something tall in the middle. Other than that, it was impossible to see what else the cart contained. But that wasn't the biggest of Draknith's concerns at the moment. Come on, come on, he thought, show us what we're up against. And as if in reply, the guards came up into view, following the first cart and then in turn, followed by a second cart which appeared similar to the first. One of the guards apparently thought the lead brahmin wasn't moving fast enough, and slapped the creature with the butt of his rifle. The two-headed beast mooed in protest. 

There were 5 guards, three humans and two mutants. Unusual, but not unheard of, to see mutants running guards on a caravan. And even more unusal that someone hired them to do it. Mutants weren't exactly popular with the majority of humanity. Being sometimes well over seven or eight feet in height, the greyish-green skinned mutants came about in the old days of the Master, and his dipping vats. Taking regular, ordinary humans and dipping them into tanks of the Forced Evolutionary Virus, they emerged stronger, bigger, tougher, faster, but often at the expence of their intelligence. Ready to unquestionly fight or die at their superior's command. The ultimate soldiers. 

But they have yet to make a soldier that can survive a .50 calibur bullet fired at over 2000 feet per second slamming into their skull. 

Taking careful aim with his rifle, Draknith in his empty hand hit his flare on the ground, and green smoke started to spew from the flare's head. He threw it into the trench, actually hitting one of the mutant guards in the head, leaving a nasty mark that a .50 calibur bullet only made worse. Gunfire erupted instantly from all directions and in the canyon almost immediately. The remaining guards of the caravan ducked behind the back of the first caravan, which made for relatively effective cover combined with the trench walls on either side and the second caravan shielding them from the rear. Draknith ducked completely back behind the stone face of the cliff as one of the mutant guards opened fire upon them with a minigun. This kind of resistance was quite unusual, normally guards were armed with pistols, rifles, or shotguns. Something very valuable must be in that caravan, something worth all this trouble. Hopefully, Draknith thought, I'll live to see it. 

Naanel felt the wind against his face as a bullet passed within inches of it. The shock was great enough to make Naanel lose his balance, almost tripping over himself. He frantically ducked back behind his shelf of rock for cover, as he wasn't exactly the hardest target to hit. He began to feel anger welling up in him, now that a brief moment of fear and shock had passed, and felt the urge to ignore Draknith's orders and blow the whole convoy with a one of the "special toys" he packed with him. But no, they needed to eat and needed the supplies, and that meant getting the caravan, Naanel thought as bullets struck the walls of stone around him. The high pitched noises the bullets made, Naanel decided, were much better than the dull thud they made when one struck his own flesh and bone. He looked across toward Draknith, his face showing concentration and concern. This kind of resistance wasn't what any of them planned on, normally convoys were easy to take. Sometimes they even surrendered. These guys were going to do anything but surrender, though, in their nice little fortress made by the caravan carts and trench walls. The brahmin that pulled them laid dead, however, caught in the crossfire of this little melee. 

Naanel then caught something moving in the corner of his eye, and the fear that someone from the convoy had made his way up behind them settled in his gut. But no, it was just little microbe, Crez, reaching into his geek bag to do something. That made Naanel uneasy, as sometimes his tricks backfired on everyone. But hell, this wasn't the time to argue. Peering back around the corner, a blank look of resolve on his face, he aimed and gracefully pulled the trigger on his .223 pistol, rocking his massive arm back with the power of the shot, and forcing some of the guards back down behind cover. 

Where the Hell is it?, thought Crez as he fumbled around in his pack. He cowered away as another flake of rock, let loose by some bullet striking the cliff wall, him square in the cheek. The scratch it left started to bleed, and a drop of blood beaded and ran down to his chin. Now his search became more and more frantic, until, there! Here it is, thought Crez, as he pulled out something he'd been saving for a situation like this. Pulling the pin on the acid grenade he held in his hand, he lobbed it over the lead cart, down into the cover the caravan guards were hiding behind. The acid which normally ate away and dissolved everything, Crez had replaced with something that in ancient times was called tear gas. The grenade exploded, and a volcanic erupiton of white smoke engulfed the trench. The return fire from the guards noticably weakened, and now Crez noticed their own men on either side of the trench were starting to advance on the caravan. 

That's when it happened, the moment none would be able to erase from their minds for the rest of their years. One of the two remaining guards, a mutant in desperation, reached under the caravan and pulled out a long, slender tube and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Inside this cradle of metal, an inceniatory rocket slept, awaiting for someone to wake it from it's slumber. And as it awoke with the pull of the trigger, the rocket rushed up faster than anyone could yell a warning. The scream of the men advancing on the caravan from the left held for about a second before the impact of the rocket rocked the hillside, the shockwave making the ground quiver as small rocks stirred about. A cloud of dust arose where three of Draknith's men had been. 

That's when another scream was heard in the canyon, but of a different type. Not a scream of fear and death, but one of uncontrollable rage. The entire canyon seemed to silence itself to listen, as the scream of Naanel ripped loose across the peaks. Running out from behind his cover, he rushed toward the remaining guards with amazing speed, a gatling laser gun resting in his massive hands. As he screamed again, he pulled the trigger with enough force that an indentation was left on it for the rest of it's days. The gun responded in turn by spewing a steady stream of red beams from it's muzzle, charring and burning whatever it hit, cutting through flesh, metal, and rock alike as if it didn't exist. The carts of the caravan did nothing to stop or slow the blasts, and Naanel cared nothing for aiming while blind with rage. One of the laser blasts then hit something under the tarp of the lead caravan, and exploded. The deafening blast was great enough that Naanel was hurled into the air, the gun still firing scarlet blasts into the air as he landed on his back. Naanel started to get back on his feet, but another rumbling blast came from the second caravan, sending rock and shrapnel into the air. Naanel tried to duck back down to the floor of rock, but a second too late. A rock flung by the force of the blast struck him in the side of the head. He fell back down to the ground, this time unconscious. 

Draknith was not happy. Not only had he lost men, but he also lost the convoy. Plumes of black smoke billowing into the air as red flames kissed the sky marked his failure. Slowly he got up, not to easily, though. He had taken a graze across his leg, which was no biggie, as he'd had worse. But he didn't know yet how bad it was, so he tested it, and the pain wasn't too bad. Then he walked over to Naanel and peered down at him. Blood trickled down his cheek, he'd been hit pretty hard by something. There was quite a nasty bruise on his head. But it didn't look like the rock pierced the skull, or damaged his brain, so he'd still be useful. His chest rose and fell in rhythm. He was a good man, though he should have waited till Draknith threw the second flare, indicating that the mission was a bust and to just worry about survival. He was about to do it, too, but he couldn't let this little incident go unpunished. It would look like he was becoming soft. So, instead of nursing Naanel's wounds, he kicked him on his chest, swearing loudly. He then walked off to survey the rest of the damage. 

Izala and Camshaft came striding down the hill to meet Draknith as he knelt beside the wreckage of the caravan. They had been part of the team that was on the right side of the ridge, and lucky for them, not in the way of that rocket. Fuck, this was all wrong, Draknith's face seemed to say. All wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. All wrong. 

"Hoo-whee, that sure blew up real good", exclaimed Camshaft in a much too jovial tone. "I reckon I haven't seen that good of a fireshow since ol' Pappy had that bowl of chili sitting too close to tha' fire." Draknith coldly turned toward Camshaft, a dull fire dancing in his eyes. Izala involuntarily took a step back, but Camshaft simply had a grin from ear to ear on his face. His pale blue eyes always seemed to be accompanied by some sort of hidden purpose behind them. His blond hair was cut long, tied in the back in a ponytail, swaying back and forth as he walked about. He had a light goatee around his face, partially because of the number of days they'd been away from the den, partially because Camshaft liked it that way. Even at the den he had that blond goatee, which molded and clung to his face almost like a mask. His light skin and pale pink lips made him seem almost pretty, if he was a girl. He would be soon, though, if he doesn't learn when to shut the fuck up. 

Always trying to be the clown, Camshaft enjoyed these little games, his many voices and accents he thought were all too funny, but others found annoying as Hell. His sense of humor was always, always mistimed, and he knew it too. He must have been deprived for attention as a child, for he always got his attention now, even if it was through it often came in the form of beatings or harsh words. He seemed to relish in it, though, making people lose control, beating the snot out of him while he remained in control. Battered, bruised, but in control.. Too bad he was one hell of a armorer, able to fix almost any type of gun, blade, or weapon he found. Too bad. Draknith would have loved to feed him to the 'scorps. But he knew when people had uses and when they didn't, and was able to put his personal qualms aside most of the time. Most of the time. 

"Where's Raynel?", Draknith asked in a tired voice. Raynel had been part of their group, the third of them. Camshaft still had that grin on his face, but it was Izala who answered. "He got caught by the minigun fire, he's watering the flowers with blood as we speak", Izala stated dryly. Her face was somber, which was understandable. She liked Raynel quite a bit. Why she had kept company with Camshaft rather than him, though, was beyond Draknith's guess. 

Izala's red hair often contradicted her somber outlook on life, her hair alwasy shimmering and glittering even in the smallest of winds, it seemed. That is, it did when it wasn't hidden underneath her skullcap she wore. It was quite hard to tell she wasn't a man, though, except when she tried not to. She was one of the best fighters Draknith had. 

Her face was covered with dirt and grime, as was everyone's. She looked around analytically at the battlefield, and sighed softly. Camshaft, still grinning, said "What are you talking about, anyways, Izala? Raynel's all still here. As a matter of fact, he's all around us! Oooh, I think I see his leg!" Camshaft started to point past Draknith, and started walking with mock facination in that diection. Draknith watched as Camshaft moved to go around him, and when he got close enough, gave him a solid uppercut punch to his stomach. Camshaft groaned, then fell to the ground, his grin for once leaving his face. But it was back soon enough, even as he coughed up bile. 

Draknith ignored him. He turned toward Izala. "We need to get out of here, the whole fucking valley knows we're here. Wake up Naanel, if you can. I don't care how. Castrate him if you need to, just do it." Izala nodded, and jogged toward Naanel. Draknith stared for a second, then turned toward Camshaft, who was laughing. Draknith kicked him clumsily. "Get up you fuck," he exclaimed, "and go see if you can find any survivors. And get the weapons if they're dead. Move." Before he could give some smart ass retort, Draknith ran off to find Crez. 

"Crez!', Draknith shouted, still running up to him. Crez was sitting up against the cliff again. Sleeping. Holy shit, sleeping! "Crez! Wake up, you ass! Wake up!" Crez blinked his eyes a few times, then looked at Draknith. 

"I wasn't sleeping," he said, groggily. "I was just resting my eyes. This hasn't exactly been a good day, y'know." 

"Really? No shit! Do tell", Draknith said sarcastically. "I need you to go see if you can see what was in that convoy that blew up, then get whatever you can out of it. Go!" 

Crez knew better than when to argue. He was almost sure, though, that nothing of value could have survived a blast like that. Well, maybe he could figure out what was in it, at least. Running past Izala, he stared at the wall of flame that was consuming the convoy and it's guards. Seeing that he couldn't get past the blaze, he turned to the trench wall and started to climb up it. He slipped once, falling back to the ground, brusing his hip as he landed on it. The second time turned out to be more sucessful than the first. He ran along the edge until he got to a spot where he could look down between the two wrecks, now he unable to tell what it was that the flames were consuming. The scent of burning flesh and blood filled the air, though, as the bodies of the guards were being incinerated.. Crez gagged at the smell, covering his nose He wasn't too fond of gore and killing, especially when the bodies were unnecessarily desecrated somehow. As he turned to shield his head away from the smell and heat, something caught his eye. 

A metal square stuck in the ground, painted red. In the middle, a flame painted in white, and some writing below that he coudln't make out, the sign had melted beyond that point. So, they were hauling some sort of flammable liquid. He couldn't think of any liquid that was flammable, off hand, other than alcohol. But it couldn't be that, the guard was far too large and well-armed. Maybe it was fuel of some kind. Maybe. Could it be gasoline? Gasoline, here? If so, someone was going to be pissed, and probably come to gun them down. Gas was worth more than gold or drugs out here. Much more rare than either, too. Worry began to overtake Crez's thoughts. 

"So, what'd you find?" Draknith said as he came up behind Crez. There was a hint of rush and worry in his voice, it seemed. That was unusual, Draknith was normally cold as ice before and after battle. 

"Well," said Crez, "there's that." He pointed at the flammable symbol melting on the ground. "I haven't seen one of those in a while, I was hardly able to make it out." As he spoke, something else caught his eye, a symbol on the caravan. "Wait, what's that?", he said, pointing it out to Draknith. 

"Can't really tell", Draknith said, it's hard to see with the flames, and you can't stare at anything too long here without the heat searing your eyes." 

"It's on the other cart too, see? And it seemed there was some sort of liquid in the caravans too, something flammable, obviously. Not sure what though." 

"Alcohol?", Draknith guessed. He then stared at the flaming wreckage for a bit in disbelief. "Sure a hell of a lot of effort for alcohol, though. Probably not that." 

"I think it was gasoline." 

Draknith turned his head slowly at Crez, a look of confusion on his face. "Heh. That would warrant this kind of a guard, but that stuff's rarer than a one-headed brahmin. And if it was gas, who out here would even have access or need it? Gas. Who would...." Draknith trailed off, now immersed in his thoughts. 

As his eyes started to glaze over, Draknith caught sight again of the symbol on the cart Crez pointed out. His face went from a sense of confusion and contemplation, to a face of bitter resolve and cold anger. The face one might give when they learned of an impending doom. 

"Star Crow", he whispered softly. Crez had to strain his ears to catch what he was saying over the roar of the flames. "The convoy was part of Star Crow. See that mark you pointed out earlier?" Draknith pointed toward a half-burned mark on the back of the convoy, on the tailgate of the rusted pick up bed. It looked like a crow perched upon the top of a star. It was crying out to some unseen enemy, it's wings spread wide, as if it were about to fly into battle, to protect it's nest. At least, that's what it looked like. The flames had burned and blackened some of the metal, and it was hard to make it out, trying to stare into such heat for so long. But Draknith knew more about the lore of this land more than he did, and so Crez trusted him. He heard Draknith swear softly under his breath. 

A block of ice started to settle in Crez's gut. Draknith didn't worry or look worried often, and when he did, it was usually for good reason. Star Crow was a slaver's guild, and a fairly large one at that. And slaver's guilds were even worse to trifle with than "law" enforcement, radscorpions, or even those giant, brutish deathclaws. Being hunted by almost any "respectable" town on the map, slave guilds were almost always well armed. They had to be, for slavers to capture slaves, to guard convoys, or to deal with those who got in their way. Crez didn't think Star Crow was even remotely near being this well armed, but apparently they were. Keeping detailed information on slave guilds wasn't exactly his hobby, but he'd heard of the rumors. He wasn't deaf to the world around him, despite what others thought. 

And now we've blown up a convoy of gas they were hauling. The rare, precious liquid which was near impossible to find. There was almost no other way to bring death down upon you, and they'd done it. Wonderful. This day was turning out to be all sorts of fun. And all thanks to Naanel, that brainless brute who couldn't keep his temper and bloodlust in check for two minutes. Who couldn't think beyond his own personal wants and desires for two seconds and see the big picture. And now he'd brought down almost certain death upon them. Oh joy of joys. If there's anything I love, it's taking it up the ass for someone elses fuck-up. Nursing his bruised ribs, Crez started to stand up. He didn't even realize he was kneeling until now. 

Draknith also got up. Now, the reality of the situation was beginning to seep into both of them, and the actions they had to take. Draknith's voice came back, strong and authoritive. "Ok, the shit's hit the fan. We've got to get out of here before they find us. Izala! Camshaft! Get the fuck up here!" Draknith, not waiting for a response, started running back toward the unconscious Naanel. Black smoke was still billowing in the air as the fire roared in the trench, sounding as if it were screaming in horror. 

"Ok, we just blew up a convoy of gas that Star Crow was hauling", Draknith started. "With a organization as big as theirs, they'll track us down, and may even have another convoy a little behind this one." Draknith pointed toward the smoke. "And if they don't, they will soon enough. We need to split up. Crez will come with me, and we'll double back around and head toward the lair. Izala, Camshaft, you two go up over that peak there and come down on the other side, that side of the mountain has a lot of trees and rocks, so you should be able to find cover. Get what ammo you can find, and get the Hell out of here." 

"What about Naanel?", asked Izala, her face somber and worried (as usual). Draknith, who was already heading off according to his plan, came to a halt. He turned and looked down at Naanel, who was breathing softly. His face was a dark red, as if sunburned, as was his hands and feet. Blisters were starting to appear all over his body; his garments were tattered, his leather armor torn and ripped in several places. He had a few scratches across his face and arms that seemed to cry dark red tears that trickled down to the brown earth Naanel rested upon. Draknith's face was a unintelligable array of emotions. 

"Leave him", Crez stated with a bit of contempt in his voice that he obviously tried to hide. "We can't carry him, and who knows how long it'll be till he wakes? We don't have a choice." 

"If we all went together, we could carry him", interrupted Izala. 

"Yeah, and move just about as fast as a spore plant", Crez retorted. 

"We can't leave him here! He's one of us!" 

"We dont' have a choice! Would you rather have one more dead or all of us?" 

"What if he's captured and talks? What if he 's tortured and reveals the location of our base and stores? What then?", Izala said, trying a different approach. 

Crez didn't have anything to retort to that, and Izala looked a little triumphant. Camshaft, of course, was still grinning like an idiot. 

"We don't have time to argue," Draknith said, "and we don't have time to carry him either. We'll take him with us a little ways, then hide him in some cave or whatever. We'll leave a note saying what happened and what to do." 

Izala's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Naanel can't read." 

"I.....oh, shit." A renewed look of anger washed across Draknith's face. "Fine. You figure out what to do while we carry him there, Izala. Again, we don't have time, they may be right behind us. Pick him up and move. Now." 

Each of the four remaining members of Draknith's group went to a different limb of Naanel's body, and picked him up with a labored effort. It wasn't long before they all began to feel very tired. Naanel wasn't light, nor was he out of shape. His body was hard and toned, making it difficult to get a grip. His clothes and armor were ripped and torn, so they couldn't use that either. They stumbled about the rocky slopes for about five minutes like this, then hid Naanel behind a large rock, out of sight from the main road. 

"You all know what to do. Stay alive", Draknith said to Camshaft and Izala. Then, he and Crez immedately started heading down the mountain toward the south. 

"Let's go now, Izala, we don't want to stay here and get our nuts blown off, now do we?", Camshaft said, giving Izala a sly smile.. 

She said nothing in reply. Instead, Izala simply reached into her pack, and looked around for something to write on. She searched for about half a minute, then came across an old piece of jerky. With nothing better to use and time running short, she picked up a stick and started to scratch a few symbols onto it. She scratched out the symbols of their den, a chidish picture of a house, as well as Naanel's name beside hers. Then, setting the jerky under his armor so wild animals hopefully wouldn't see or smell it, she got up, called to Camshaft, and started running down the mountain toward the forest of decaying trees in the north. 

Farther up the path, sitting in the shadow of the angry black pillar of smoke, a second Star Crow convoy had come to a halt by the burning ruins of their kinsmen. 

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